His Little Girl 2
by Consulting Writer M
Summary: The sequel to "His Little Girl." When Sandy Carlisle is suddenly killed in her home, Violet Burke seeks the father of her baby, Sherlock Holmes, for help. They believe she, too, is in danger, and if they don't act quickly, the next target could be the baby...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Uncle Mycroft **

For those unfamiliar with the story of the daughter of Sherlock Holmes, here is a summary. Her name is Beatrice Violet Holmes. Two months after being born, her mother, Violet Burke, mute and dying, she was left with her paternal father, Sherlock Holmes, who hadn't even known she existed because He had donated sperm and had not expected to father any of the children he'd help create. Violet's girlfriend Sandy had left the baby there after Violet disappeared. So, Sherlock had to find the mother and return the baby. Of course, after finding her after being with the baby a week, Sherlock had to face the fact that he had to keep her. Violet would be too sick to take care of her, and her girlfriend was a stoic businesswoman who had no time for children. The experience was quite humbling for our sociopathic detective, and the story continues.

* * *

"It's been eight months, brother. I'm surprised you haven't lost the child or given up by now."

"I thought you'd be more surprised that for five of those months I made no mention to the situation to you."

"I was obviously aware of it before you mentioned anything to me, brother dear. I can only imagine that Mummy is proud of you for providing grandchildren."

"And for a moment, you thought we were hopeless. Of course, you were right about yourself, as always."

It was an early June afternoon in 221B when Mycroft finally had nothing better to do and came to check on his little brother. As always, he was aware of what was going on, called by several people over the past eight months about Sherlock and the new addition he failed to be introduced to.

The little addition was Beatrice. An odd name in this century, of course, but not too odd for someone like Sherlock. He never called her by her full name, though. He mostly called her Bee. Some people called her Tris as well, which Sherlock didn't like as much as he liked his little Bumble Bee.

Over the eight months, she had certainly changed. Although she was born with dark hair, it somehow all faded into a soft blonde color, like her mother's was, and then grew into a mess of thin baby curls. Her eyes didn't change, the blue-grey color they were the first day she and her father met. And she wasn't so still and easy to watch over anymore. She was crawling, had just finished teething, and soon enough she'd be standing up and walking, talking in English rather than in her baby babble. That was a long way away for her, though. She was only ten months old. She was simple, smiled whenever her father smiled back, tried to get everything in her mouth, laughed at the silliest of things. She was sitting there on the floor between her father and the unfamiliar face of her uncle. She babbled on, stacking rings onto the plastic pole they went on. She turned her attention to whomever was speaking, or sometimes to the sounds of Mrs. Hudson's shoes as they stepped on the wooden floors of the flat.

"Strange," said Mycroft, "the child's hair. It's blonde."

"Violet's was blonde."

"Ah. Violet, yes, the mother. So sad she's unable to take care of her child, leaving her with someone even more incompatible."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I just thought you might've lost the baby by now, misplaced her somewhere, sold her for drugs."

"I'm not an idiot, Mycroft. She's my daughter. I couldn't just abandon her. I'm not heartless."

"Sentiment, then. That's why you kept her."

"Of course, obviously. Why else? Besides..." Sherlock picked his baby up from off the ground and had her look at Mycroft. "Look at this face. How could I say no to this face?" A grin spread across Sherlock's face. Mycroft just grimaced, which confused the baby. She clung onto her father's shirt with her chubby little hands.

"Oh, Mycroft," Mrs. Hudson said from the kitchen, "you don't need to be so sour. She's just a baby."

"Well I never liked children," Mycroft admitted, "so simple-minded and immature, with tedious nursery rhymes and their oh-so spoiled way of living."

"_Mycroft_!"

"Don't be mad, Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock, "he's just talking about me. Doesn't matter, I don't do that tedious baby stuff that most parents do. If I did, I probably would've lost my mind. My teaching is less tedious but still simple and repetitive so it sticks in her mind." Sherlock pointed a finger to his temple.

"Ah, yes, the old 'Sherlock Method,''" Mycroft responded. "Hopefully that'll work out for you and the baby. Speaking of you two, how's life, just the two of you?"

"Well, there's Mrs. Hudson, too, Mycroft. You can't forget Mrs. Hudson." Mrs. Hudson nodded happily in the background. Mycroft turned to face her with an apologetic smile.

"Of course," he said, "honest mistake." He turned back to Sherlock. "You know what I mean. I think a better question to ask is, 'How's John?'"

John Watson, of course, Sherlock's old flat mate and blogger. He had moved out some time after meeting a nice girl named Mary Morstan. He'd met her a while before Beatrice was even born. They were married about a month after the baby came into Sherlock's life, and were even expecting a baby themselves, which Sherlock had discovered on the wedding day. The baby was due in about a month, in July. Their baby, also expected to be a girl, would be eleven months younger than his.

"He has his family now," was Sherlock's response, "and I have mine. We've moved on."

"I've heard..."

Beatrice patted her tiny hand on her father's chest. Then she yawned, sinking her cheek into him. Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Oh," said Sherlock, "looks like this visit is becoming tiring. Couldn't have said it better myself." He gave Mycroft a grin before he kissed his baby's soft head, swaying his hips slowly to soothe her.

"You care for her so much," said Mycroft. "I sure hope you watch your back, brother dear. Wouldn't want her to be in any danger..." Mycroft was hesitant, feeling the baby's warm back with tender fingers. He pulled back with a sigh. "Until next time, then, Sherlock."

"See you later, Uncle Mike," Sherlock teased. Mycroft grimaced. Sherlock chuckled with a wink. As Mycroft left quietly, Sherlock headed to his room, slowly humming as his little girl cooed and began to drift to sleep. Before Mycroft had arrived, she had eaten, so it was nice for her to be falling asleep so easily. It was not always so easy to get her to sleep or to eat. She whined and cried like any other baby, but she was calmer than most. Oh, how calming it was to hold her close, how contented she was to every beat of his heart, which he sacrificed a multitude of times, coming so close to death, but having a doctor and a baby to live for. Soon enough the child fell asleep in his arms.

He slowly walked to her cot and placed her in there, under the pink blanket Violet had given her, next to her cherished rabbit with worn-out ears from constant chewing. Sherlock smiled. "Sleep well, Bumble Bee," he murmured, bending down to kiss her soft head before leaving her to nap. In eight months, the baby certainly had changed, but so had the man she knew as her father.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! Short version: not dead. And with a new name! If you aren't aware, I used to be Wannabe Detective M. Now I am Consulting Writer M. **

**Anyway, many people asked for a sequel to "His Little Girl" and I promised them one. I had just been so caught up with other things, and now I've finally decided to write it. Yay! Here it is, after almost a year since I wrote the first one. It's about time! **

**As always, feedback is appreciated. Many more chapters to come soon. **

**\- CWM**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Meeting Again **

John came to the flat later that week to visit his best friend. He walks up and is immediately ctgreeted by Beatrice, who sat on the sofa trying to pull her pink blanket from under her. John couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said to her, which made her smile at him when she saw his face. John picked her up, and she patted his cheek and nose. John chuckled. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing? Where's your Daddy, huh?"

"Her 'Daddy' is over here." John turned to see that Sherlock was in the kitchen, working on an experiment. John rolled his eyes and walked over there.

"Shouldn't you be doing something more important?" John asked him.

"What could be more important?" Sherlock replied.

"Oh, I dunno, watching your baby?"

"She's not very mobile, John. She was just sitting there, like she always does. If something happens, I'll hear it. She'll cry or whine, or I'll hear a thump if she decides to get off the sofa. No big deal."

"You make it sound so easy."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Took her about a week to actually sit down there without crying or longing for me. You think it was easy? It's almost heartbreaking." Sherlock stood up front he table and had John hand him his child. "Hey there, little honeybee," he said softly as the little girl babbled and tugged on his shirt. "Did Uncle John come to visit?" He came to a realization. "Oh, John, speaking of which, I need you to help me watch her for about an hour or two. Mrs. Hudson went out grocery shopping, and I need someone to watch the baby while I do something outside the flat."

"Wait, what?" John looked at Sherlock in confusion as he set the baby down near her play things. "You're not serious? What's so important that you have to-" All Sherlock had to do was look at him and John had an idea of what was up. "Oh. Can't you take the baby with you? I mean, she'd want to see her."

"I could, but to have a mental image of her like she is, I'm just..."

"Take Beatrice, Sherlock. Please. She needs to see her more than once."

Sherlock sighed. "Alright, I'll take her. By the way, how's Mary?"

"Good. She's great, glowing. Rather far along now, won't be long until, you know, we have a little one of our own." Sherlock grinned. "I'm surprised you had one before I did. But, I guess I can learn a bit from you, can't I?"

"Not much, really," Sherlock replied as he put his coat on. He had a little coat for Beatrice as well. "Thought of any names yet?"

"Lots. I personally like Alice, but Mary's got good names too like Sophie and Angela."

"What about something like Catherine?"

"Catherine. Sounds nice. Catherine Watson. Cat Watson." John didn't like Cat, but Catherine sounded nice. "I'll consider it."

"Greatly appreciated, John," Sherlock replied as he helped the baby put on her coat. John chuckled as her chubby little baby arms wiggled through the sleeves of the little blue coat that looked similar to her father's. Sherlock picked the baby up. "Ready to go?" he asked the baby. He gently pressed his face into hers as she giggled. Sherlock looked over to John. "I'll be off then. I'll be back in a couple of hours, if you would want to stay until I get back, then have your long chat with me about life and such."

"I can wait. No trouble."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched into a slight grin as he headed out with the baby. "Say goodbye, Bee." Sherlock lifted a little arm to wave at John. John smiled and waved back as Sherlock left out of the flat.

* * *

_She was a singer. According to sources, she liked to sing songs from past eras like the twenties and the fifties, Marilyn Monroe and anything from a classic black and white movie, which she watched plenty of in a pair of sweatpants and a big jumper on a rainy Sunday morning. _

_She wasn't like a lot of girls she knew. In fact, she was interested in those girls, being a lesbian. One look and you wouldn't think she was a lesbian, with her blonde hair streaked with a light brown, her big blue eyes that were only as colorful as the day, more grey on a cloudy day, and her petite figure. She could easily be mistaken for a teenager, but put her on stage in a long black dress and red lipstick, she looks like a goddess. _

_She wrote songs of her own, either on the piano or on her ukulele or guitar. She even recorded her favorites and put them all on a CD. She had to before she would lose that voice forever due to cancer in her throat. After losing her voice for good, she felt like she had nothing to live for, even with her girlfriend's support. _

_And then her grandmother died. It is usually a sad topic, but when she left her with a large amount of money, she felt the whole world was in her hands at that very moment. And so she spent a portion of it on using a sperm donor to make a baby. Out of several men, she chose him, and for nine months she carried that baby, playing her original songs, writing more songs to her baby, and loving every minute of it. _

_A month after having the baby, however, she became really sick. For another month she remained in illness, becoming weaker and having trouble breathing and standing. She couldn't take care of the baby anymore, and her girlfriend despised having a child in the home. Her girlfriend couldn't handle taking care of two people at once with her job. And so, to lighten the load, she ran away. _

_She was found a week later, and taken to a hospital, where she stayed until they treated her. Still, she was unable to take care of her baby, which her girlfriend passed down to the sperm donor father, and she continued to live with her girlfriend in their flat, along with a breathing tank. They told her she wouldn't live, told her she wouldn't be able to do a lot of things. They were wrong, as they always are with people that still have hope in life._

* * *

Sherlock knocked on the door of a flat. He thought about ringing the doorbell, but there was a knocker, too. Either way, someone would answer the door. And someone did.

"Well," she said, "I didn't expect to see you again." Sandy Carlisle, the stoic and stubborn girlfriend of Beatrice's mother. She was in a dress shirt, buttoned down and untucked, sleeves rolled up, still wearing her tight work skirt. Her hair was down, but still had that curve that showed it was originally in a ponytail or a bun. "How long has it been since you've seen us?"

"Far too long, Sandy," Sherlock replied. He heard the familiar sound of an old 1950s television show coming from inside the flat. Sherlock grinned. "I'm guessing Violet's home?"

"She's always home," Sandy replied, "unless she's at a doctor's appointment. I knew she'd be the only reason you'd show up." She noticed the baby. "And just look at you! Oh, your hair! You look so much like Violet."

"May I come in?"

"Sure thing, Sherlock." Sandy let Sherlock in. He wiped his feet on the mat and took off his coat as Sandy offered them something to drink. Of course, Sherlock had a bag of things for Beatrice, but he wouldn't mind some tea. As he took off the baby's coat, he saw her. She was curled up on the couch, in a big jumper, an oxygen tank next to her, connected to a tube that led to her nose, cupping a mug of steaming tea, watching _I Love Lucy_ on the Telly. Straight, blonde hair and big, blue-grey eyes with a hint of freckles on her soft cheeks. Violet. Sherlock walked slowly towards her, carrying the baby. Beatrice cooed softly as her father walked behind the couch.

"Lucy is a gem, isn't she?" he said, which startled Violet. She turned around to her surprise to see it was him, with their baby. Sherlock smiled. "Mind if I sit with you?" he asked. Violet nodded, and Sherlock walked over to sit next to her. He set the baby down.

Beatrice looked at Violet, who couldn't help but smile at the baby and run her fingers through the mess of curls. Violet placed the baby in her lap and held her close. Sherlock could tell she missed her child. Any mother would after eight months of not seeing her. Violet certainly looked better, healthier, than she did when he first saw her. It was heartwarming. The baby cooed softly, babbling on and almost grabbing the tube in Violet's nose, but her little hands were pushed gently back. Sherlock only glanced at the two and it was obvious they were related. Beatrice looked so much like her mother. All she had from him were her curly locks.

"Forgive me," Sherlock said, "uh, I should've came to see you more often. I thought about it several times, I just..." Violet sighed, touching Sherlock's arm sympathetically. Sherlock looked up at her as she gave him a light smile. "I can't imagine how much you miss her." Violet nodded. "I will try to make time. Any time, you can text me. I prefer to text anyway."

For about an hour, Sherlock talked to Violet while she played lightly with her baby. It was hard for him to tell if she was listening to him, but she was. If she could laugh out loud, she would. It was obvious by the stories he told that he wasn't a normal father, let alone a normal man. His baritone voice was intimidating, like a radio voice for a smooth jazz radio station. His linguistics and word usage were sophisticated and sharp, and every sentence flowed sweetly like honey out of a jar. She only wished she could speak back. He enjoyed that she listened, but someone to talk back to was more enjoyable than talking on and on while the mute companion listens on in silence. Violet could sign, of course. She only knew so much, though, enough to ask for a small favor or for something to eat or drink, not enough to carry on a conversation.

After a while of tea and stories, Beatrice was fed and fell asleep. Violet sat with her in her arms on the couch, rocking slowly back and forth while the baby slept. Sherlock used his time looking through a photo album that Violet had made from photos that Sandy had taken while she was pregnant. It gave Sherlock an idea of what she was like before she got sick. She reminded him a bit of what Mary looked like now, except Violet was more petite than Mary. Sherlock liked a lot of the photos, avoiding the ones of her and Sandy being intimate. Intimacy was odd.

Realizing what time it was and that John was expecting him back, he decided to make his leave once he finished his tea. As he began to put on his coat, Violet noticed he had gotten up and became heavy hearted, having to be separated from her baby again. She knew she couldn't take care of her, but she wished she could at least be there. Sherlock gently took he baby in his arms, hoping she wouldn't stir, wrapping the little coat around her shoulders rather than pulling the sleeves through. He looked at Violet, sad to see her baby leave again. "Don't worry," said Sherlock, "you'll see her again. Ever want to make plans, I always have my phone. Text me? Okay?" Violet nodded, mouthing "okay." Sherlock sighed, believing that here was a day he would've been able to hear her voice for what it was. Sherlock collected the bag and kissed Violet's forehead softly like he did to Beatrice when she was upset. He gave her a warm, genuine smile before he left, as if to assure her that everything was going to be alright.

* * *

**Author's Note: Ugh! Such a long chapter. I'm sorry. I had so much detail. At least you got to know a little bit more about Violet.**

**Also, since I mentioned this in the story, I currently don't have a name for Baby Watson just yet. If you have any suggestions, let me know. Thanks!**

**As always, feedback is appreciated! **

**-CWM**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Lazy Day with the Girls **

Beatrice found a lot of things so interesting. Babies were magnificent like that, in wonder of what was out there, in constant curiosity if just what there was left to discover. Some days, it was the funny glass beakers and chemicals on the kitchen table that she was never allowed to touch. Other days it was Uncle John's laptop, all the interesting keys that tapped when he touched them with his fingers. Today, it was the round thing inside of Mary, getting a little bigger almost every time they met. It hadn't grown much for a long time, but it was fun to pat, like a drum.

Mary had come over to the flat while Sherlock and John were out on a case. Honestly, Mary had nothing better to do than to come to 221B. She found a reason to stay when she saw the cheeky little baby crawling around the flat and under the kitchen table.

"Oh, Mary," Mrs. Hudson said, "you're absolutely glowing."

"You'll never know how many times I've heard that before, Mrs. H.," Mary replied. "If you ask me, I'm about done carrying the baby in my belly."

"You're coming close. Soon enough, you'll be ready to pop."

"Oh my God. It's unbelievable, isn't it? Me and John, being parents."

"I thought the same thing when I had my children, and even when Sherlock found his little girl at the door one day."

"I couldn't believe it either. Sherlock being a father was a bit shocking. Now, it's not too bad." Mary kept Beatrice near her as the two sat on the couch together. Beatrice would kneel beside her, feeling her jumper and softly patting her belly. "Does she go by Bee or Tris?"

"Sherlock calls her Bee. I personally like Tris better. She responds to both."

"Me too." She looked down at the baby. "Hey, Tris. Yeah, that's my belly? See? Inside it is a little girl, just like you. And soon, you'll get to see her. Hopefully you'll be friends, if you two are anything like your dads."

Mrs. Hudson giggled. "Thought of any names?"

"There's a long list, Mrs. Hudson. Right now, my top picks are Sophie and Penelope, names like that. But yesterday John suggested Catherine under Sherlock's advice. I don't know. I'm thinking we'll just wait until she's born and see."

"That's always a good idea. She might not look like a Catherine or a Sophie."

"True." Mary noticed that Beatrice was climbing down off the couch so slowly. "Oh, look out for your little bum." Mary caught the baby and picked her up, holding her in one arm. "You're so silly, aren't you?" She kissed the little girl's soft, rosy cheeks, which made her giggle in delight. Beatrice just made Mary's heart melt, she was so innocent and adorable. It was so hard to see how she could've come from Sherlock. Then again, she had little blonde curls on her head that were all ruffled and messy like his were sometimes.

"You'll be a wonderful mother, Mary," said Mrs. Hudson.

"Thanks," Mary replied, blushing.

* * *

**Author's Note: Very very short chapter. I don't know why this one wasn't as long as the first two, but I think it has to do with the fact that this is not a scene I'm used to writing. Domestication is hard to write for me. **

**Anyway, I should tell you that I will update chapters for this fic on Wednesdays and Fridays. And if you have any suggestions for Baby Watson's name, that would be greatly appreciated. Feedback is always appreciated as well. Thanks!**

**-CWM**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Over Again**

It was a normal circumstance for Sherlock. The murder of a civilian, no one knows the who, the why or the how. Who is the killer? Why did he kill the victim? How did he get away? There was also the where, as in where the murderer was right then as they were investigating. It happened the night after Mary came over while Sherlock and John investigated a body, which Sherlock deduced almost too quickly and went back home in dismay and ennui.

Lestrade had received a call from frantic neighbors as they claim gunshots were heard as well as screaming. Although it was his job, sometimes he hated when the witnesses would claim they heard screaming, practically yelling in his ear themselves. It was one of the reasons he hated his job. The reasons he liked his job kept him around. Sherlock was a reason for both loving and hating it.

Lestrade called Sherlock in the next morning when he was notified of the murder. To Sherlock, it seemed like it was just another case for him to solve. But then Lestrade told him the location. He recognized it.

Sherlock went downstairs to see if Mrs. Hudson was around to take care of Beatrice. Turns out that the two were already in the same room together. Mrs. Hudson had Beatrice were in her kitchen, just relaxing and smiling. Sherlock grinned, glad to see his two favorite girls together.

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, "I'm off."

"Oh, already?" Mrs. Hudson replied. "It's rather early for a murder."

"Well, murderers find it clever to hide in the night so no one finds the victim until morning."

"Seems like a smart idea."

"It's the oldest trick in the crime book, Mrs. Hudson. I'll be off then. Watch Beatrice?"

"Of course, dear."

"Thank you." He walked over and kissed his baby's soft head before leaving.

* * *

He seemed so happy to Mrs. Hudson. He tried to keep himself that way like nothing was wrong, but he knew that something was. He concealed himself as to not worry the poor woman. He didn't wasn't to let that content smile wipe off her face. He kept her worry-free for the time being. He took a cab to the location, trying to treat it all like a normal case, breathing calmly, thinking of what the murderer could be looking from what their motives were. He stared out the window, watching the city landscape pass by him quickly.

The city of London, so vast and so large, full of opportunity and adventure. It was a jungle, a mess of different kinds of strange and dangerous endeavors. It was a battlefield, with enemies and their targets, soldiers and their weapons. Sherlock lost focus of reality just as the cab stopped in front of the location. The sudden stability snapped him back into his current situation. He took a deep breath, unsure if he was ready to see what was in there, although he knew what to expect.

The familiar red door, painted red like a candy apple. Some forensic scientists led the detective straight to it, past the yellow caution tape. The familiar smell of herbal tea and laundry detergent had been replaced by whatever the scientists were using to investigate the body. The white carpet behind the sofa was stained with dark red liquid, and there were bloody handprints smeared on the faded pink walls. There the victim lay on her back, her white dress shirt almost drenched in blood, next to her dirty blonde hair and her peach face and hands, splattered dark red. Her green eyes remained open, blood-shot from all that she lost, once filled with shock and fear, now lifeless and blank. DI Lestrade stood over the body in what seemed like a stoic manner, but inside he was horrified. He always was, not knowing why someone would do something so terrible not just to an innocent person but to anyone. His eyes filled with hope when Sherlock made his way inside to investigate the body.

Sherlock crouched down, sitting on his heels, pulling out his travel-size magnifying glass and examined the body and the wounds she took to her head and her stomach. Someone had shot her twice, once in the stomach, and then finished her off by shooting at her temple, killing her for good. All of it was obvious. He asked that the blood get washed off and that she be taken to the morgue for further diagnosis, him believing there might be bruises on her wrists from a struggle, noticing imprinted footprints from heavy, male shoes, that led from one part of the room to the other. Obviously he had been let in and he wiped his shoes on the rug, but left a sum of dirt leading in. She knew him, had let him in. Sherlock demanded a list of friends and coworkers.

Sherlock stayed completely stoic as the forensics team got the body out of the flat. The flat was empty, all except for him and Lestrade.

"Seems like just another day for you, huh?" Lestrade said to make lighthearted conversation. "But you seem a bit agitated. Need your morning coffee?"

"Was there anyone else in the house?" Sherlock asked. "You must've evacuated them from the house."

"Not that I know of. They said she was alone-"

"Impossible."

"How?"

"I...know the people who live here. Or lived here, I guess."

"Really? Who are they?"

"Sandy Carlisle. She was the victim. And Violet Burke."

"That's a name I remember. I didn't know they lived here."

"Where is she then?"

"Violet? I don't know, I didn't see her. I didn't see anyone in here - hey! What're you doing?" Sherlock had made his way across the flat and into the bedroom. He checked every room in the flat, but there was no sign of Violet or where she could be. All the medicines in the medicine cabinet were gone, however, as well as several books, DVDs, and CDs from off the shelves, including a box set of I Love Lucy DVDs.

She had left.

Sherlock was sitting on his knees in front of the DVD shelf, looking down at the floor. He couldn't believe it. The idea of it all made him feel sick.

"Sherlock," Lestrade asked, "are you okay?"

"Fine..."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Not a clue. She's missing again. She can't be alone, the condition she's in. At least that's how she appeared."

"I know. She's really sick, I get it. Don't worry, we'll find her. She couldn't have gone too far." Sherlock took out his phone almost immediately, having been given Violet's mobile number. She couldn't have left without it. He sent her a simple text, and for the rest of the day waited for a response.

_Where are you? SH_

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello. Just want to inform you of a schedule change. I will also be uploading chapters on Monday. So that's Monday, Wednesday, and Friday that I update His Little Girl, and my other fiction will be updated Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday. **

**Thats all. Feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!**

**-CWM**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Not Knowing**

"So she's gone?" Mary asked, she and John at Baker Street. "Oh, that's terrible."

"Yeah. They say if she left, she must've left the night of the murder."

"You think she might've done it?"

"Done what? Committed murder? Sherlock said it was unlikely. But it is likely that she's a witness."

"You think that's why she left? To save herself?"

"She must've left before the police could arrive. Sherlock says she might've had a suitcase with her, because she took a lot of her things with her."

"So a small blonde girl with a breathing tank and a suitcase is wandering around with no way of speaking and nowhere to go?" Beatrice was on the floor near Mary, trying to climb up onto the chair with her. "Hey, Tris," said Mary, lifting the baby into the chair. John smiled.

"You can't wait, can you? Soon enough it'll be a different baby." Mary looked at him and rolled her eyes with a giggle. That's when it hit him. "Where on earth is Sherlock?" Mary shrugged. John sighed and went to go look for him. He had been there a second ago, but now he was in his room, sitting on his bed with a laptop, browsing the Internet. John rolled his eyes when he found him.

"Are you serious, Sherlock?" he said. "Seriously, you'd rather be here than with your daughter? You really need to get your priorities straight."

"I'm busy," was Sherlock's reply. John was already fed up. This wasn't the first time that this had happened. There were several occasions where John would come over and find the baby alone while Sherlock was in the middle of a case. It angered John that Sherlock couldn't take the time to actually look after his daughter. He was still the kind of man who was married to his work.

He shut Sherlock's laptop. "Sherlock, come on. Take some responsibility-"

"I am taking responsibility. It's not like my daughter is alone. I always make sure she is being watched."

"Really? Not even a week ago, I came here and she was just sitting there while you were doing experiments in the kitchen. You always have to put your priorities before hers, don't you? It's been eight months, Sherlock! When are you going to start acting like a father?"

Sherlock froze. He sat there, staring blankly at his knees. He opened his laptop again and continued his research silently. John stood there, waiting for a response. Finally, Sherlock looked at John and said, "She woke me up at three in the morning. For eight months, she has done that, and I have had to take care of her. I invited you here little over a week ago. When was the last time I did? Because between the times when you're not here or I'm not outside of the flat, I am the one taking care of her. Not Mrs. Hudson, not anybody else. Just me. It's not easy. You'll be lucky. You'll have Mary at your side, someone to take care of your daughter while you're at work. I don't have that luxury. I have to work at home a lot. So I'm sorry I invite you over just to watch over Beatrice, but I'm trying to keep up with work. Plus, I am putting her priorities before mine, considering I'm looking for her mother."

Now John was silent. As Sherlock went back to his laptop, it occurred to John that Sherlock was a not just a parent but a single parent. Even if they found Violet, she'd never be well enough to take care of the baby even on her own. Sherlock would always be the only one truly taking care of her, raising her on his own. God knows that Beatrice will be just as obnoxious as he is.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John finally said, "I didn't-"

"It's fine. I know I should be more attentive. Just let me find Violet and then I'll...not ask you over so much."

"Oh, it's fine that you ask me over. It's nice, coming to Baker Street. It's still a home to me. Besides, Mary likes seeing the baby. Gives her a bit of experience."

"She loves that baby. All the girls love her. What is it about little babies that makes women all - 'Ooh, look! It's so adorable! Myeh meh meh!" John laughed at Sherlock's impression.

"They're babies. They're cute."

"Yeah, they're cute...when they're not crying or whining or being brats. I hope Bee doesn't become a brat." "

If she's anything like you, she definitely will be."

"I am not a brat!"

John rolled his eyes. "I should let you get back to work. Mary and I will keep an eye on Tris."

"You too, huh? Everyone calls her Tris. Why?"

"It's cute."

"Bee is cute. Bee is adorable, much more adorable than Tris. Tris is like a female heroine from a comic book. Bee is a sweet, little girl. That's who she is."

"I suppose. I'll get back to her then. Good luck finding Violet."

"Yes, thank you, John."

* * *

Early the next morning, at three to be exact, Sherlock was awoken right on schedule by his infant daughter. For eight months, he had been doing this, observing the way she cried to determine if she was hungry or needed a change or was just upset. Tonight, Beatrice was upset.

Sherlock sighed as he climbed out of bed and walked to the cot across the room to pick up the wallowing baby. He shushed her, holding her near his chest, swaying her to soothe her. "It's alright, darling," he murmured to the baby girl, "you'll be okay. What's the matter, hm? You fall asleep in my arms and next thing you know, I'm not there, huh? Is that it?" Sherlock kissed her head as she continued to cry. "No, no, no, don't cry, Bee. It's okay, I'm here..." He stroked the baby's back slowly and the sobbing subsided. "There. Is that better? Why don't you come lie down with me, huh? That'll make you feel better." Sherlock walked back to his bed and sat down, placing the baby in his lap and turning on the lights.

Despite it being three in the morning, he was willing to keep his daughter occupied. Beforehand, he wasn't used to the playing and the little baby things that most parents used to make their child happy. Now, it wasn't so bad. He'd let her grab onto his fingers with her chubby little hands. He'd play that "which hand" game with her, which was so amusing to her whenever she got it he'd read to her, not something too simple that would bore the hell out of Sherlock and not something to complicated that would bore the hell out of her. He'd read books like Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. When suggested to read princess stories, he got the original Grimm fairy tales. And some nights, like tonight, he'd let her play on his chest while he lay on his back. She was old enough now to sit up like she was riding a horse. Sometimes she'd fall forward or backward, and she thought it was funny when she did.

Tonight, like most nights, she fell asleep on Sherlock's chest, contented by his heartbeat. Sherlock stroked her back and kissed her forehead before getting up and putting her back in her cot. As he carried her there, he couldn't help but think that she looked so much like her mother. He sighed, knowing Beatrice definitely needed a mother. The closest thing she had was either Mary or Mrs. Hudson. He knew Violet would never be able to take care of the baby. Sherlock had a little bit of fear that he'd be the only one truly able to take care of her.

He sighed, placing the baby in the cot. Suddenly she cooed, waking up, not wanting to leave her father's comforting embrace. "Shh," Sherlock soothed, "it's alright. Go to sleep..." He hummed a tune softly to her to comfort her, and it worked. Sherlock kissed her forehead before he departed from the cot and back to bed. The fear was gone for that moment. Even if he was the only one taking care of her, he did a fine job doing it.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! **

**There aren't many reviews for this fan fic yet. It makes me a bit sad. Then again, it's a sequel, unlike my newer one that's gaining popularity quickly. I always say feedback is appreciated. I feel like I'm begging for reviews, but I'd like some, especially if you have any ideas for Baby Watson names! **

**Thanks! **

**-CWM**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Looking for Shelter **

It had been almost three days. In those three days, there had been no sign of or response from Violet Burke. With no sign so far, Lestrade would sit as his desk after looking at other files and pray silently that she'd be alright. If she was dead, Sherlock would be devastated.

Still, the search for the murderer still remained. None of Sandy's coworkers or friends knew anyone or fit the description of the killer. It was becoming a difficult case for Lestrade, considering he was practically doing this alone. He was doing half of it, finding the murderer, while Sherlock was on the other half looking for Violet.

And after three days, she returned.

It was a rainy night. Sherlock was alone with a cup of steaming tea that Mrs. Hudson brought for him, playing his violin, while his daughter sat across from him in the red chair, having milk from a bottle, contented by her father's music. He loved playing the violin for her; it didn't matter what song he played or if he was just plucking the strings. Once the violin was heard, the baby automatically dropped everything and put all focus on that violin. Because of her interest, Sherlock considered teaching her when she was old enough. Mrs. Hudson watched from the kitchen like she always did. She never felt like she was left out, but always felt like she shouldn't interfere. She was almost like a silent onlooker to the family portrait, not so much a part of it when it was just the two of them, him and his baby.

Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and the sound of thunder, which startled the three of them. Sherlock looked over to Beatrice, who was unaffected by it. Sherlock sighed in relief and continued to play as to distract the baby from the thunder. Mrs. Hudson sighed contently as she continued to tidy up the kitchen a bit.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Attention was turned to the door. "A little late for a client, don't you think?" Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock before she went downstairs to answer the door. Sherlock put the violin down and had some tea, to which Beatrice tried to climb down from the chair to be with her father. Sherlock watched his baby crawl to get to him, but he walked past her to grab her bottle before scooping her up and handing it to her. She continued to drink it as he sat in the red chair and held her. It was late, and she needed to sleep. So did Sherlock, but he was more concerned about her priorities at the moment.

Mrs. Hudson walked downstairs and opened the door to find a girl standing at the door. She was soaking wet and shivering, a backpack on her back and a suitcase being rolled behind her. Despite having a hooded sweatshirt, her hair was soaking. She didn't say a word.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Hudson, "you're soaking wet. Are you here for Sherlock?" The girl nodded with wide eyes. "Well, it's very late. Hopefully he'll still want to see you. It won't matter. I'll get you some tea and a towel. He's just upstairs. I'll take you, dear." Mrs. Hudson automatically assumed she was a client, paying no mind to the suitcase or the fact that she wasn't speaking. She didn't even notice that the backpack was for a breathing tank.

Sherlock was still upstairs, walking about the room, making small mental notes aloud as he soothed Beatrice, who was falling asleep after being fed and changed. The baby was now startled by the thunder, which came from a closer distance and was louder than the previous sounds. She whimpered as she clung onto her father's shirt, longing for his protection.

"It's alright," he murmured soothingly, keeping her in a warm embrace. "Shh, it's just the thunder. It won't hurt you...I won't let it."

Mrs. Hudson had led the girl up the stairs and into the flat. Sherlock looked at her sigh wide eyes as Mrs. Hudson got her a towel. The girl sat on the couch, placing her backpack next to her. She looked up at Sherlock with a longing, helpless expression. She looked like she was on the brink of tears. Sherlock knew her. He sighed in relief.

"Why didn't you respond?" he asked. "I could've helped you." She couldn't respond. She sobbed into her hands. Mrs. Hudson looked in concern and pity. Sherlock looked at he baby, who still whimpered. He went over and sat with the girl. "Don't worry," he said, "it's alright! don't cry. You're safe now, Violet..."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Living in His House **

Violet had spent the night in Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson had offered her to sleep in John's old room, but she slept on the couch. She didn't mind sleeping on the couch; couches were comfortable to her. She was given a warm blanket and left to sleep there.

The next morning, she was woken up by the familiar voice of Sherlock in the kitchen and the pitter-patter of cereal falling out of the box. She sat up and looked over, past the mess of chemistry equipment that covered the kitchen table, to find him and the baby eating Cheerios that he poured onto her height chair. Sherlock must've taught the baby how to eat Cheerios and such. She was ten months, after all, and babies always had Cheerios.

Sherlock had noticed that Violet had woken up. "Oh," he said, "you're awake. I'm assuming you want breakfast. What would you like- No. Don't tell me. Hm...toast? I'll make you toast." Violet nodded in thanks, smiling because she knew he wanted to deduce her so she wouldn't have to speak. Violet sat at the kitchen table, a bit concerned as to why there were so many beakers and Petri dishes on the kitchen table. She supposed they were Sherlock's but wasn't sure why he needed them. Still, he had cleared a small space on the table. For her? For himself? For the baby? She didn't know.

Speaking of the baby, Violet turned her head to see the baby right across from her. Her sweet rosy cheeks, her light blonde mess of curls, her big blue-grey eyes, and her little cheeky smile. Beatrice patted her tiny hands on the plastic table, reaching for the Cheerios and trying to put them in her hands and into her mouth. It wasn't easy with her little baby hands. Violet decided to hand her some of the Cheerios and help her pick it up with her fingers while Sherlock made her toast.

Sherlock put a plate in front of Violet. "Here you are," he said. "Can I get you anything else? If you want coffee, I can-" Violet lifted her hand and stood up with a grin, making her own cup of coffee. Sherlock looked at the baby and took Violet's place. He covered his face with his hands and said, "Where's the baby?" Beatrice giggled. "There she is!" he exclaimed when he popped out from behind his hands. She laughed even harder. Violet looked over to see him playing with their daughter. Seeing them together was joyous. She smiled, thinking that the baby looked so much like her father.

He never seemed like the fathering type, not to anyone. Knowing his occupation and doing some research on him, Violet definitely knew that he was no man to be suited for the role he was placed in. She felt bad, knowing that there weren't a lot of people who could help him with it, but was glad that he had adapted into it. Once her coffee was done, she sat back at the table behind them.

Sherlock looked behind him to see her. "You're so quiet," he said, "I barely notice you. Sorry, did you want to...? Don't worry, she doesn't bite." Violet shook her head, motioning him to continue while she finished her toast and coffee. After having breakfast, Sherlock sat in his chair and let Violet hold Beatrice. That was a problem, however. Violet couldn't pick up the baby all by herself, her body being too weak. She couldn't even walk too far or stand too long without feeling weak.

She looked at Sherlock, who was completely unaware at the moment of her situation. "I told you, she doesn't bite," he joked. "You can...oh." He had observed her and realized what was wrong. "Oh. So sorry." He got up and got Beatrice out of the chair, who had been complaining from being uncomfortable. "Sorry, darling," Sherlock said to the baby, kissing her cheeks, making her giggle. He smiled. "Come here, Violet. You want to play with her over here?" Violet nodded, following him to the chairs. Violet sat across from Sherlock in the red chair while Beatrice sat on the floor, occupied with play things.

"Violet," Sherlock began, "we need to talk about what happened. I know it's silly of me to say we should talk, since you... Anyway..." Violet nodded, getting comfortable in the chair. Sherlock took a breath, waiting to find just what kind of questions to ask her. He didn't understand why it was so easy to deduce any random man, but when it came to Violet, he couldn't even ask her a few simple questions? Maybe he was afraid she'd cry again? Maybe he was afraid of what she knew? He sighed, looking at her and at the baby. Sentiment. He had grown sentimental. It was inevitable anyway; he had been a father for eight months now, and now he had her mother with him. It was only natural that he become so caring, so sympathetic, so sentimental.

"Sorry," he managed to say, "I'm not doing well withy words right now." Violet nodded understandingly. "But we have to find out eventually what happened to Sandy, now don't we? You're the only known witness. If you know anything, we need to know. We want to help you, the Scotland Yard and I." Violet just looked down, obviously a bit upset by the thought of Sandy. She had obviously been aware of her death, but as Sherlock looked at her, he thought something more was going on. Before he could ask her anything, however, Beatrice crawled over and tried to climb on the big red chair with her mother. Violet was able to lift the baby onto the chair. She took her child's chubby little hands in her thin ones, almost like they were dancing. Beatrice smiled at the gesture, enjoying when her mother smiled with her. Sherlock sighed, deciding to leave the topic for another day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: The Family Portrait **

Violet stayed with Sherlock for three days. It was three days to be with him and their daughter, three days to try and explain to Sherlock what had happened to Sandy, who the killer might be, three days to try and live an almost ordinary life, a life she could've had with Sandy. Sherlock dared not to leave any of the girls alone in the flat, even if they were alone together. He was afraid something would happen, either to Violet or the baby, the other one going to be completely helpless. No wonder Violet couldn't take care of her child, which left the question of what was going to happen to her in the end. Either way, she'd be gone.

For those three days, there was little Violet could give on the man who had killed Sandy. She obviously knew him as well, and when asked if it was one of Sandy's friends or coworkers, she claimed he wasn't. The killer was obviously a bigger man with heavy strides and amateur aim, according to Sherlock. The reasons for killing Sandy were still unknown, given the fact that Violet didn't know, and when asked, began sobbing.

Interrogating Violet was tough for Sherlock. He never knew that someone who was truly incapable of speaking could be so hard to read, so hard to deduce. Sherlock felt like he was distracting himself from the murder, which was odd. No, not odd, desperate. He didn't know he was desperate, but he was. Desperate to keep Violet there, desperate to let Beatrice have her mother, desperate to not raise this child alone. It is never easy for a single parent to raise a child. Anyone who is otherwise doesn't understand how hard it can be. Even so, if Violet stayed, she'd constantly be in and out of illness, leaving Sherlock to have to take care of her, too. Violet, Beatrice, and work, he'd never get a break. He'd most likely to mad and resort back to drugs, this his life spiraling out of control. He had considered this many times in those three days and was left with asking himself what was going to become of her.

One day, Violet was listening to one of her CDs aloud as she held a sleeping Beatrice in her weak arms in the red chair. Sherlock had to go talk to Lestrade about the case that day, and so Mary and Mrs. Hudson watched over the two of them. Mary was listening to the CD, hearing Violet's voice. It was smooth and soft, like a summer breeze. Her style was almost vintage 1920s or more indie rock, depending on the CD.

"Your voice is so lovely," said Mary. "It's a shame you had to lose it." Violet nodded with an understanding smile. The ladies continued to chat and listen to music. Violet turned to Mrs. Hudson after a while, her being aware of Violet's situations, having the old lady take the sleeping baby back into he bedroom to sleep. Then Violet proceeded to get up and move around a bit, stretching her legs.

"Feels good to get up, doesn't it?" Mary asked. "It's so difficult when you've got a beach ball for a belly." If Violet could giggle, she would have right then. She understood what that was like, and Mary knew she did, too.

Mary proceeded to tell Violet about herself, when she was due, that the baby was going to be a girl, how many different names she had. It was a lovely yet almost one-sided conversation that led to the topic of pregnancy in general. When Mary mentioned family, however, Violet seemed out of place.

That was everything Violet wanted- the perfect family portrait. It didn't help that she was bisexual, almost dying, and not even able to hold her own daughter while standing. Her first attempt proved to fail her, so desperate for it all that she took a great risk. Her girlfriend wasn't pleased, nor was anyone she knew, but she did it anyway. The worst part was that she wasn't the one left to suffer the consequence of caring for the child.

But now she had some opportunity. She had Sherlock with her, by her side. She had him, and he actually cared for her. She hated that he had to watch her suffer, that he couldn't get any information from her about Sandy's murder. She didn't know who could've killed her; she didn't see him. Even so, she wasn't too fond of keeping him on the case, although the longer it went on, the longer she stayed with him and Beatrice in this happy home. She seemed so kind and compassionate, so innocent and fragile. No one would think of her a selfish and desperate to have her perfect family portrait.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: The Pieces of the Puzzle**

There were a number of men interrogated for the murder of Sandy Carlisle. They were good friends, coworkers, anyone who matched the description that Sherlock had deduced. Each one was innocent, unfortunately, and with every innocent man that walked out, Sherlock and Lestrade had to expand their horizons. They had little knowledge of the killer, other than he knew Sandy and most likely went to track down Violet, thus her hiding.

Finally, Lestrade gave in. "Sherlock," he said after days of interrogating, "I think we need to take a different approach to this."

"How?" Sherlock replied. "There's no other way. The only witness we have can't even speak! I've asked her a hundred times, but she won't give me any indication... Our only witness knows nothing of the killer or his motives..." Sherlock rubbed his eyes with his fingers, sighing.

"Sherlock," Lestrade broke the silence, "you have to consider some alternatives. Violet obviously knows. She's running from him, you said. She stayed in one location for three days. How long will it be before this guy tracks Violet down to you?"

"It won't be long. She has my number if something goes wrong. I have her under supervision at all times. And who knows if my brother is keeping an eye on her at the flat."

"You think he is?"

"Wouldn't surprise me if he was."

"Whoever is watching her is watching the baby too, right?"

"Of course. You make it sound like I haven't thought any of this through. I have... Look, I can send out some scouts to check around for anything suspicious around the building where she lived, if that's what you want."

"Sherlock, you do understand this is your job, although technically, I shouldn't be letting you do any of this. Still, it's a job, and you have to take it seriously-"

"I am taking it seriously! I've always taken it seriously! What happened, Lestrade?"

"You seem very distracted. You're a bit irritated and seem really bored, like you don't want to be here, like you'd rather be somewhere else. What's wrong?"

Sherlock sighed. "Look, I don't think you understand what it's like to-"

"Yes I do and you know it, Sherlock." It was true, Lestrade knew what it was like to be in Sherlock's place, with a child to come home to and the worry that something might happen to her while he was gone. Sadly, Lestrade wasn't exactly as lucky as Sherlock to actually have time to see his kids. He had three - a girl and two boys. His wife didn't want him near the kids, much to his and their dismay. The divorce nearly killed him, so he started smoking to get over it.

Sherlock remembered all that and simply nodded to him. "I'm sorry, Lestrade," he said. "But I am trying to focus, really. I will find the man that killed Sandy Carlisle, I swear it. I'm not giving up on this!"

Lestrade grinned. "That's the spirit," he said, patting Sherlock's back.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! Just a heads up that although I am trying to keep an uploading schedule, keeping up with chapters is difficult and writing lengthy ones to keep the story interesting is becoming difficult. I don't know how people feel about shorter chapters, but I'm trying to lengthen them as much as I can for the purpose of detail. I am still currently writing this fiction so I might delay the next chapter so I have more time to add content. **

**Also, feedback is really appreciated. So far nice comments have come my way. Don't be afraid to give constructive criticism. Thanks! **

**-CWM**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Uncovered **

Sherlock had come home to find Violet sitting alone, listening to herself sing on the CD. He hadn't gotten a chance to listen. He walked in quietly, as if not to disturb her. It was true, her voice was stunning, and the career she led was short-lived. He sighed as he took off his coat and shoes.

The calm of the music was interrupted by crying. Violet shut it off and looked around frantically, relieved when her eyes met with Sherlock's.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "I got it." Sherlock walked into the bedroom to comfort his baby girl. He brought her out into the flat, bouncing her lightly as she continued to whine. Despite how tired he was and how much work he needed to get done, Sherlock always put her first, made sure she was calm and content before starting anything work-related. "You hungry?" Sherlock asked quietly as he kissed Beatrice's soft head. "I'll make you milk. That'll make you feel better." Sherlock set her down in the height chair and got her a bottle as promised, then proceeded to mosey her across the room, softly humming as she calmly drank.

It was then he remembered Violet was there, just sitting calmly and motionless like a statue, but not expressionless. She seemed almost neglected but content at the same time. Lonely, Sherlock deduced.

Sherlock sat on the couch with the baby sitting in one arm, watching Violet from across the room. "You wanna sit with us?" Sherlock asked. "There's plenty of room." Violet smiled and nodded, slowly yet happily making her way to the couch to sit by him. Sherlock gave her a reassuring smile. He placed his hand down next to his thigh as he bounced his daughter playfully in the other arm. Violet involuntarily moved her own hand over his, which startled him just a bit. He felt that her hands were cold, colder than his. Her hand was soft, but her fingers were long and her fingernails were all chewed off. She was a nervous one.

Sherlock stared down at their hands for the longest time, and when he lifted his head, he realized that her face was closer to his. He raised his eyebrows. He looked down at her hand again, then moved his hand to take hers firmly.

Is this what it's like to be Sandy? Sherlock thought. Sure, Violet and Sandy must've had some sort of conversation. The thought of a silent house, a peaceful house, was almost ludicrous to Sherlock, but now he saw what had kept them together for so long - the way that she could communicate without even speaking.

A memory:

Sherlock had been told a number of times that Beatrice should be taught like a normal child. Sherlock wasn't normal, and he didn't believe his child would be anywhere near normal. Still, Mrs. Hudson suggested that he at least show her some children's movies. Sherlock bought a selection of Disney movies from the Internet. He chose more classic ones, like Robin Hood, Peter Pan and The Jungle Book. He refused to show her a Disney Princess movie, having watched most of them, each one being unrealistic. The only one he actually bought that was princess-related was The Little Mermaid. It was interesting to Sherlock how the girl in the movie had no way of speaking, yet the prince fell in love with her because she had a quirky personality and a kind disposition. Plus, the music in that movie is fantastic.

How?

Body language.

And that is exactly how Violet had communicated with people. She figured out that she didn't have to talk to attract people to her. Sherlock kept his grip on her hand gentle yet tight, like a comfort, like a sanctuary. As their eyes locked and their faces were a close distance to each other, Sherlock allowed her to come closer and kiss him deeply. He tried not to lose himself in it all, his child in his other hand. He parted from Violet quickly. When Mrs. Hudson came up to check on them, they made it look like nothing happened.

* * *

That night, Violet made her way into Sherlock's room, where he was slowly swaying and soothing Beatrice in his arms to get her to sleep. Upon seeing Violet, he smiled and motioned her in as the baby fell asleep. He placed her back in her cot and climbed into his own bed.

"I'm guessing you're joining me," he said. Violet nodded. "I thought so...come on, you can lie here. I don't bite either." Violet smiled and sat in the bed with him. She gave him a smile, which faded when Sherlock spoke again.

"Why are you lying to me?"

She seemed appalled. She was more afraid than appalled, looking shocked but knowing exactly what he was talking about.

"I know you, Violet," he continued. "I know what you're trying to do, even though you know it's not going to work. You would've been very lucky if you were just a bit convincing. You don't love me, at least the way you tried to convince me that you were." Violet shook her head frantically. She tried to take Sherlock's hands, but he pushed them away. "I know your motives. I know what you want. You're desperate enough to try and convince me you're in love when you just want to fulfill your desires..." That's when he was hit with realization. "That's why you sent a man to kill Sandy off."

Violet's eyes widened. Sherlock should've known. He had been blinded by her maternal position and her innocent disposition. He had deduced her from the beginning, completely overlooking that she was hiding something from him. And now she revealed it to him all in one night. Sherlock sighed. "You do realize the consequences of your actions, and that I will have to..." Violet began sobbing. "Stop." No longer was Violet everything he thought she was - the mother of his child, a talented singer, a kind and generous girl. All he saw now was a selfish, desperate girl who got a man to commit murder just to please her fantasy of a perfect family. "Don't cry. It won't help your case." He knew she was crying from the sorrow of the realization. "You are a pretty decent criminal, Violet. I'll give you that much. Nobody suspects the mute, sickly girl to be a part of it. You put your trust into the wrong hands, which was your biggest mistake." Violet nodded. "The greatest consequence you will face is life in prison." She nodded again.

Sherlock lay back in bed. "If you don't plan on killing me tonight," he said, "you can sleep here. Otherwise I suggest you leave." Violet rolled her eyes, crawling under the sheets and falling asleep next to him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: Taken**

It was three in the morning when he heard it. It wasn't the familiar sound of his whimpering little girl that he woke up to. He ended up waking involuntarily, but to a different sound.

Silence.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Violet was not in the bed. He sat up quickly and banged on the wall, a loud noise to shake and disturb anything it was heard by.

Nothing.

Sherlock quickly climbed out of bed and went to Beatrice's cot to check, and he was unfortunately correct. She was missing.

"Oh, no..."

Sherlock tried to focus, tried to keep calm, but he ended up panicking instead. It was like the day he found out that he was to be responsible for another human life. He was experiencing it all over again, eighth months later, the same fear, the same anxiety.

He needed to calm down. He told himself to calm down, to breathe, to take charge and get to finding them before something worse happened. With that in mind, worst-case scenarios played through his head as he sat on the floor, not realizing that he had not only called the police to inform them that Violet had taken the baby but also called and texted several people, informing them of the situation. He was so upset and unaware that he hadn't even realized until John came to his aid.

"Sherlock?" he said, crouching down to his level. "Sherlock? Are you okay?" John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. Sherlock was unfocused and shaking, completely dazed, mumbling to himself. "Sherlock, look at me. Are you on any drugs? Were you dosed with something? Sherlock, say something. Can you hear me?"

Sherlock blinked, shuddering slightly, focused, snapped back to reality. He looked at John. "When did you get here?" he asked.

"You texted me, remember?" John replied.

"Oh...did I? I don't remember..."

"You texted me, you called Lestrade. He said you were frantic. I heard what happened... Sherlock, look at me, it's going to be okay. They'll find them."

Sherlock stood up, still a bit shaky. "What...how can I not remember texting you?"

"You were most likely panicking. You don't usually panic about these kinds of things-

"Well, you don't get it." Sherlock knew he could say this to John. "You don't understand what it's like to find someone you care about just gone like that. You don't understand what it's like to have a kidnapped daughter."

"I know. Sherlock...calm down. It'll be alright. She couldn't have gone far." John didn't argue like Lestrade did. He wanted to say that he didn't understand losing his daughter, but he did know what it was like to lose someone and think that they'd never return, only to find out that they did. He wanted to say that, but he didn't want to waste any more time if there was still a chance of finding them.

It was five in the morning. Sherlock and John rode in the back of Lestrade's car to search for Violet and Beatrice. Sherlock didn't put his deductive skills to waste, scanning every person walking down the street. He knew where she'd be. Lestrade sent a couple others to check hotels, motels, even the old flat where she used to live. There was no sign of her. The radio in the car kept going off with muffled voices that only Lestrade understood. Sherlock didn't pay attention to that. He kept his eyes on the dark streets of London.

Then he came to a realization. "I know where she's going."

"What?" Lestrade said.

"I know where she's- turn left!" Lestrade obeyed. Sherlock kept his eyes on the road, giving Lestrade directions until he told him to stop at a bridge. No one was there. "I could've sworn she'd be..." Sherlock stood in sheer awe and disappointment, climbing out of the car and scanning the edges of the bridge. With that, he sighed in relief, climbing back into the car.

"You thought she jumped off the bridge?" John realized.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "She wanted to clean her ledger, to end it all... And she was so desperate as to take her baby with her."

"So she's insane."

"No, John. She's desperate."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! **

**Sorry for the short chapter. Sadly, I have to inform you that this story is about to come to a close. But in the spirit of creating a long-awaited sequel to "His Little Girl," I thought I might try to do a Q&amp;A at the end of this fan fiction. It's just an idea, but if I get a lot of questions, I think it could work. If not, I'll trash the idea. **

**Anyway, as always, feedback is always appreciated and I hope you enjoy reading the rest of the fan fiction. **

**-CWM**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Uncle Mycroft to the Rescue **

She put the baby away, kept in her little chair as she cried horrendously. She tried to calm the baby down, but with no way of speaking, she couldn't do anything to stop the baby. She turned around, and there he was, looming over her, breathing heavily, gun in hand.

"You got what you wanted," he muttered menacingly, "now where's my half? You promised money, did you not?" She nodded. "And no one found out about this...did they?" Her head was downcast as she shook, afraid of what he was going to do. Someone knew, and he saw it in her fearful eyes as she looked up at him.

Police sirens were heard outside. He became furious. "You bitch!" _Slap!_ "You let it loose! Now the police are after us! I cannot believe you... You're going to pay!" He held the gun towards the small mess of curls, the monster snarling mercilessly.

She silently begged him to spare the child. He moved his hand towards her head, and her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at him with acceptance.

"That's enough." A voice came from behind them.

He looked behind him to find a slender man in a nice suit, holding an umbrella at his side. There was silence, except for the wailing of the baby. Agents quickly moved in and booked the man with the gun. They had him and the girl taken out, leaving the slender man alone with the baby.

A baby girl and her neglectful uncle, Mycroft.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned around, Beatrice screaming and crying, her face soaked in tears and her eyes and cheeks pink and puffy from almost hours away from her beloved father, separated from her mother and unsure of what was going on. All she had now was Mycroft at the moment.

He hated her. At first, he hated her, at least. He hated the idea that Sherlock had been a sperm donor, and that some desperate girl was willing to be the mother of his child, and an ill one at that. He hated children, thought all of them were filthy and loud and stupid and destructive, like war. He never wanted children. Now he was stuck with one until one of his agents called Lestrade and brought Sherlock to the building where the mother and her hired assassin were taken from. Mycroft sighed. His hatred was petty, and he knew it.

He swallowed his arrogance and walked over to the crying baby, unmatched her from the seat, and - very hesitantly - picked her up. Beatrice continued to cry and wail, scared out of her mind and wanting her father. Mycroft held the sobbing baby up against him like his brother did, patting her back lightly and trying to hush her. He almost shuddered at the idea that he was even making physical contact with a child. Of course you'd think that he wasn't like this as a child, but he was. The only child he actually enjoyed being with was his own brother Sherlock.

Police sirens could still be heard. Mycroft recognized the familiar sound of a car rolling up. Lestrade had brought John and Sherlock. Mycroft sighed in relief.

* * *

As the sirens subsided, John and Sherlock got out of Lestrade's car. All that was left was the distant sound of a crying baby. John looked immediately at Sherlock, who seemed so stoic and serious, but his eyes were full of fear and longing. Those were the eyes of a worried father, John thought.

Sherlock quickly ran into the building to find his brother holding his sobbing daughter in his arms. The first thing he did was grin.

"Mycroft," he teased, "you're scaring her!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Sherlock. Now come here and take her from me. I'm begging you."

Sherlock laughed as he took his baby from him. "Oh, Bee, are you okay?" he asked sweetly. Beatrice still sniveled and whined as her father held her close and swayed his hips. "Oh, it's okay," he murmured to her. "You're alright...You had me worried sick." He kissed her little head. "It's alright, sweetheart. Daddy's here..."

"You've become so domesticated, brother dear," Mycroft said. "It's hard to believe that you would even want to care for a child. Then again, you've always had a soft spot for children, haven't you?"

"Mycroft, I was given a responsibility, and I cannot just give up on her now. She needs me."

"Just like someone else I know who needed you, Sherlock..." Mycroft and Sherlock looked outside to find John, who was in the middle of a phone call. "You have been one to take in lost souls, Sherlock. That is why you took in her mother. You should've seen this coming, the day she'd have to go. She'd be taken from you either way, by myself or by death. This is for the best, Sherlock, and you know it."

"I understand..."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: Deja Vu**

The man that Violet hired to kill Sandy was named Richard Sanders. He was a trained killer who Violet had promised to pay for the murder. Sandy had let him into the house because he said he was a business partner at her firm who had come late because he had just gotten off a flight and didn't have a lot of time to get back without talking to her. Upon being desperate for family, Violet tried to hide and find Sherlock so he could help her, but alas, he ended up hating her in the end, and she ended up taking drastic measures. Coming back without the money and the police on her tail, she was almost shot and killed until she was saved by Mycroft.

What is to become of her? For her crime, Mycroft is putting her in a special prison where she will remain there for the rest of her (most likely) short life. And just like that, her record would be hidden. No one would remember her name, and Sherlock would never see her again. Worst of all, Beatrice would grow up without her mother. Whatever memory she could possibly have of her now in her little head was all she had to hang on to, besides a handful of CDs and the items Mycroft allowed his brother to keep. And that was the end of it.

* * *

John and Mary got a surprise visit from Mycroft not long before their own baby was due. Mycroft was invited in and given tea as he sat down with John at the kitchen table. He informed John of the situation.

"So that's it, then?" John asked.

"Yes, that's all that he should know."

"You think I'm going to have to be the one to tell him? I...guess I could."

"I thought you'd agree to-"

"What shouldn't he know?" Mary interrupted. "You said that was all he 'should' know. What can't he know?"

Mycroft looked at John. John gave Mycroft a look of disbelief. "You're kidding," said John. "Not this again."

A few days after being imprisoned, Mycroft received notice of a request of Violet's - lethal injection. She wanted to die. Anyone would. She was mute, alone, dying anyway, and had no one. Sandy was dead; her family was estranged; Sherlock hated her for lying to him and taking her baby; she would never see Beatrice ever again. The world fought against her and won, and she couldn't take any more of it.

Mycroft was there to witness the execution. He stood there behind a glass window and watched as Violet was laid down onto a table, removed of her breathing tank, and given the injection. She had a look of genuine acceptance on her face. She almost smiled. She was finally free of the world that pitted against her so greatly.

As he watched, two memories popped into his head:The first was a distant memory, one of when he was an adolescent boy.

_He was sitting absently in the house he grew up in, reading, as he always seemed to be doing. It was so empty every day he came home from school, since his parents both worked. Today, however, was different, more absent, more lonely. He knew why. His parents knew why, too. Sherlock, however, was unaware._

_His little brother came home not long after Mycroft did. He kept his face stoic under his book. Sherlock immediately did what he always did after school - call for the dog. _

_"Redbeard! I'm home!" Sherlock called. Redbeard, the Irish Setter, had always come to Sherlock whenever he called. Sherlock was the dog's favorite person in the house, the only one who was around to take care of him and play with him. Today, Redbeard did not come. _

_"Redbeard?" Sherlock called again. "Redbeard, where are you?" Sherlock went looking for the dog all over the house and in the backyard. Still, there was no sign of his precious pet. He caught sight of Mycroft. "Mycroft, where's Redbeard?" he asked. Mycroft dare not tell his little 10-year-old brother exactly where the dog was. He remained silent, as if he didn't hear the question. Instead of asking again, Sherlock forgot Mycroft and ran into the backyard to call for the dog. _

_Sherlock sat outside and waited for the dog to come back for over an hour as Mycroft started to make dinner for the two of them. Mycroft sighed and went outside to break the news to Sherlock. His parents would be gentle about it, tell him before he went to bed and he carry the sobbing boy upstairs. But Mycroft was blunt and to the point, stoic about the situation, like a machine. At first, Sherlock didn't believe him, thought he was pulling at his leg. After some convincing, though, Sherlock's eyes widened and brimmed with tears, the cruel words echoing in his head. _

_"Redbeard is dead." _

_"He was an old dog," Mycroft explained. "He was getting sick. Even if we kept him alive longer, he would've just gotten worse. He wouldn't be able to play or even want to play, and you couldn't convince him otherwise." _

_Sherlock began sobbing, worse than he had ever sobbed before. He didn't shed a tear at their grandfather's funeral, but losing Redbeard was enough to make him so incredibly upset that his legs felt too weak to stand. Mycroft had to pick him up and take him to bed. He didn't talk to anyone for a week. _

The second was a more recent memory. It was the memory of finding Violet and Sanders in the building, hearing the baby cry and wail, unhappy and uncomfortable, lost and without her father. As the needle poked through Violet's skin, the sound of the crying baby echoed through Mycroft's head. If he tried to shut it out, it would be replaced by poor Sherlock sobbing over losing his only friend. As Violet took her last breaths, Mycroft left before she finally took her last, wanting to get all of these crying children out of his head.

He hated it. It was upsetting to hear children cry. He never wanted to be the reason why ever again. He didn't tell John about that part.

"No," said John. "I'm not lying to Sherlock again. He has to know!"

"I cannot allow him to. To know that his daughter will never see her mother again is enough of a burden. And you are not lying. You're leaving out one small detail-"

"You think death is a small detail?"

"John." Mary tried to get his attention, but to no avail.

"This is insanity, Mycroft. You can't do this again. Not to me, not to him."

"Her death," said Mycroft, "will kill him as well."

"He got over Adler. How is this any different?"

"John," Mary said again.

"I can't keep this from Sherlock. I can't keep things from him anymore. I have to tell-"

"_John!_" Mary exclaimed.

"What?"

"John, the baby..."

"What about the - oh. Oh! Now?" Mary nodded. "Now? Oh my God..."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: New Beginnings**

Sherlock rushed into the hospital and into the waiting room. John and Mycroft were sitting there, John obviously anxious. He looked up to see Sherlock.

"Hey," he said. "Where's Bee?"

"First of all," Sherlock replied, "thank you for calling her that instead of 'Tris.' I left her with Mrs. Hudson, as usual."

"You think she can handle taking care of her?"

"She's been good about it so far..." Sherlock sat down next to John. Mycroft pretended to take a phone call to let the two have their privacy. "Nervous?" Sherlock asked. "I shouldn't have asked that. Of course you are. It's so obvious."

John chuckled. "You're not the only one who's noticed."

"Of course. Like I said, obvious... Aren't you supposed to be in there with her?"

"I'll be called back in a minute. They're doing some...stuff. You know, birth stuff."

"You have no idea how they deliver a baby, do you?"

"I have some idea, more than you might. I am a doctor, after all. But I'm more of a surgeon than a gynecologist."

"Ah, I see...I was just wondering, since you seemed to call it 'birth stuff.' It sounds unprofessional."

"An epidural, Sherlock."

"Oh...yeah. 'Birth stuff' indeed."

They eventually called John back inside. John patted Sherlock on he back with a nervous hand, then got up to join Mary in the hospital room. Sherlock sat alone in the waiting room. He sat back in the chair, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, and began to think.

A memory:

_Sherlock was at Uni. He was talking to Mycroft in person, the first time he's seen him in months, the first time they spoke in over a year. Mycroft was becoming aware of a drug habit that Sherlock was starting and was scolding him about it in his own stoic, calm manner that could possibly bubble over if heated too much. _

_"You do realize your future is at stake," Mycroft was saying. "You cannot waste your talents on such an insane idea as drug use." _

_"Fuck my future," said Sherlock. "It doesn't matter. I'm doing fine in school. Even if I don't use drugs, I'm still passing with flying colors." _

_"For now, sure, but what about later? What about when you're older and you want to make something out of your life?" _

_"Like what?" _

_"What if you, God forbid, start a family?" _

_"No. I don't want that. I don't want to get married. Marriage is stupid. It's not for me. You're not even married... Even so, I don't want a family of my own. It's too ordinary." _

_"Ordinary..." _

_"I'm never having kids. Not ever. To live in a world so manic and fucking full of expectations... no. Never." _

Another memory:

_"No, please stop..." Sherlock had been fathering Beatrice for two months now. It was an early morning. The two had stayed up for hours. Beatrice had a fever, and she had been crying for several minutes. Once Sherlock thought maybe she was done, but then it got worse. _

_"Don't...don't cry. Please. I'm trying..." He had called John for advice, telling him what he knew about what to do when the baby had a fever or was sick. _

_"If it gets worse," John had said, "take her to the hospital." Sherlock couldn't. That would mean leaving his child in charge of doctors who she wasn't familiar with. She hated strangers. The only people she'd want to ever be around were Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. _

_Sherlock was holding her in his arms, sitting on the bed, rocking back and forth while trying to shush her. He was tired and worried and so confused as to what he should do and avoid taking her to the hospital. He almost began to cry himself, until John arrived. _

_John sighed. "You're really hopeless, aren't you? Here. Let me help you..." _

"Are you okay?" Sherlock snapped back into reality. Sherlock looked at the clock. A few hours had passed. Had he fallen asleep?

"Are you okay?" It was John, waving a hand over Sherlock's face. "Yoo-hoo!" Sherlock sat up. "You alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Sherlock replied, rubbing his eyes. "I'm fine. I was just thinking..." Sherlock noticed that John was wearing the blue suit. "Oh. Hey, how's...everything?"

John smiled with a sigh. "Wonderful," he replied. "I cannot believe I sat through that. That was...just amazing."

"So?"

"Mary's in there. She's happy. She's...very high on whatever they put in her." Sherlock laughed at that with John. "Anyway, everything ran smoothly. You wouldn't have been able to sit through that."

"I've seen worse."

"Even so, it's not a dead body, it's a living thing, soaked in blood. My...my little girl." John couldn't stop smiling. He covered his mouth. "Oh my God..."

Sherlock smiled at John. He wasn't as excited to see Beatrice. He was terrified. But after a while, she became his whole world. Now John had a chance to have that for himself. His own little girl.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: John's Little Girl**

Sherlock walked in after John, seeing Mary in the hospital bed, holding her baby in her arms. From his distance, he could see the little baby's face and some of her fingers, the rest of her under a pink blanket and a small hat.

"Hey, Sherlock," said Mary. "So glad you could make it. Did you bring Tris?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I left her with Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh. Well, alright. Come here, Sherlock. Don't be shy. Come closer, get a better look."

Sherlock walked closer with a lot of hesitance, following behind John. John came next to her and kissed Mary's head as Sherlock got a good look at the baby. John and Mary's baby was small and soft-looking, a bit smaller than Beatrice was when he met her. The baby cooed and made little baby noises, sucking on a dummy. Sherlock stared at her, eyes lighting up. "She's beautiful," he managed to say. "What did you...what's her name?"

"Emory," said John. "Emory Catherine."

* * *

John and Sherlock were sitting in the hospital room with Mary sleeping in the bed. John was holding his baby in his arms as she softly cooed and slept herself. Sherlock gave the two a tired smile.

"It's going to be hard," said Sherlock. "Long nights of staying up, constant songs stuck in your head, this notion in the back of your brain telling you that you might've forgotten something. Everyone will want to see and touch her, and it's almost creepy."

"Any good things?"

"Uh...reading stories to her to help her go to sleep. Being able to fool her with hand tricks. Making her laugh, calming her crying...watching her learn and grow up. Making sure she stays out of trouble. Just...loving her in general..."

"That girl is your entire world, isn't she, Sherlock?"

"That's what I suppose happens when you become a father...the world doesn't revolve around you. You revolve around her."

"That's great to know, Sherlock. You wanna hold her a minute? I have to take care of something."

"Oh, uh, are you sure-"

"Of course." John handed Sherlock the baby and stood up to leave to the restroom. Emory opened her eyes when she entered his arms. She looked at Sherlock, curious.

"Hey, Emory," he said quietly and sweetly. "So, you're the ball that's been growing in Mary all this time. I never had to deal with that with my daughter, but..." Sherlock sighed. "You're so little...and innocent. I always thought that bringing children into the world would be a punishment for them, but look at you. You just got here. There's so much to learn...maybe I could teach you something. You wouldn't mind any of the body parts in the fridge, though, would you?" Sherlock reached a finger out to her, and she grabbed it. He smiled. "Well, since you're here, there's something I need to tell you. I made a vow to your parents on their wedding night. I said I'd always look out for the three of you. That's your mum, your dad, and you, too, Emory. If you ever need me, I'll be there, okay? Sherlock Holmes, at 221B Baker Street. Your dad will know where to find me, too, if you forget."

John had walked out a couple minutes after Sherlock began talking to Emory. He woke up Mary just to show her. They were both smiling at him. Sherlock didn't notice until later, looking over to see hem, nearly flinching. John chuckled, taking back the baby as Sherlock stood up.

"Uh, thanks," said Sherlock. "I'm happy for you guys, but I have to go. I got my own...at home."

"We get it, Sherlock," John replied.

"We'll see you around." Sherlock gave them a nod and exited the room. He walked out of the hospital and walked to Baker Street as night lights lit up the streets.

He got home to the familiar scent of 221B, tea and old wallpaper with just a hint of that sweet baby smell. Sherlock walked upstairs to find Beatrice had fallen asleep on John's red chair, Mrs. Hudson having covered her in a blanket. She was still clinging onto the ears of her rabbit, sound asleep, until she had heard the footsteps on the old wooden floor. She opened her eyes wearily and cooed, slowly sitting up and looking around, dazed. Her father picked her up in his arms, her little hand clutching onto one of the rabbit's ears as her arms fell over his shoulder. She yawned from exhaustion, resting her cheek against his shoulder as he swayed her back and forth, letting her fall back asleep.

Sherlock did eventually find out what happened to Violet Burke. Even though he wanted his daughter to know the truth and not live in a fantasy, he never told her what Violet had done and how she died, except for that she got really sick. He found out from John about a week after Emory was born. He kept himself calm and stoic for most of the day, but later that night began sobbing in the comfort of Baker Street when he picked up one of her CDs and listened to it. He found comfort from Mrs. Hudson, who alleviated his sorrow by bringing him good news - Beatrice's first word. Dada.

The End.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, that's it. That's the end of this chapter of Sherlock and Beatrice. I have thought of plenty of other stories for them, and I will gladly write them for anyone who is interested. **

**I wrote a second story for the sake of closure and for the sake of one request: Mycroft's reaction to Beatrice (in Chapter One). I also wanted to give some closure to Violet's story. Yes, I planned on killing her off in the end. **

**I want to take the time to thank those who loved the first story and came back for the second one, those who are new to the HLG world and long for more. I also want to thank a certain reviewer, whose name I cannot recall, who suggested the name "Emory" for Baby Watson. **

**I have a lot more stories for you to read, and more coming (hopefully). Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading! **

**-CWM**


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